


AHS: Hotel: Welcome Back

by The_Rifleman



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: Horror, Hotel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:45:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Rifleman/pseuds/The_Rifleman
Summary: A continuation of season 5 of American Horror Story: Hotel.





	1. Chapter 1

Los Angeles, California

The Hotel Cortez

2020

Mr. March clumsily exited a swinging wooden door trying to carry three silver platters full of food with him at once. Slowly, he made his way from the kitchen area of his suite to the large table in the dining room area. The Countess sat patiently at one end of the large, long table, and smirked at him as he started to drop some shrimp cocktail onto the floor.

"James, you're ridiculous, why don't you just let that pathetic woman come back?"

"It's a matter of principles!" shouted Mr. March, giving up and throwing everything else he was carrying onto the floor as well. After the clanging and clattering had ended he smoothed his hair back before it could become too mussed and then straightened his dinner jacket and took a deep breath. In an even, smooth voice he continued talking to the Countess, "The woman got me killed," he said, "What kind of good employee does that?"

The countess rolled her eyes and then took a sip from her wine glass. It contained a dark red substance. She grimaced at the taste.

Mr. March made a concerned face and went to his queen.

"What's wrong, my sweet? Don't like the 1945 Mouton Rothschild? I'll admit it is a bit of a recent vintage, but-" he tried to console her.

She slammed her fist on the table to silence him.

"I miss the blood," she said to him in a hurt whisper.

"I know you do," said Mr. March, bending down on one knee next to her chair and taking her gloved hand in his. He kissed it several times. "You will eventually get used to not needing it, I'm sure."

"I don't just miss the blood, though, James," she said, turning to him and looking him right in the eyes, "I miss the killing too, and... the turning. Just the other day I met a young man in the bar. He would have been a perfect new companion."

Mr. March stopped kissing and stood up, looming over The Countess.

"And what did you do with this young man?" he asked.

"I didn't kill him if that's what you're asking," said the countess. She casually reached past her water glass and plucked a cigarette out of a small silver box on the table. She lit it with a gold lighter and took a small drag and looked up at him.

"Good," said Mr. March, looking meaningfully back at her.

"I know your new rule about killing. If you can't do it, then nobody can," said The Countess. Mr. March walked to the other end of the table and sat down across from her.

"I try to lead by example," he said, taking a sip from his own glass of wine. "But you know that's not what I'm referring to," he continued.

"Did I screw him, James, is that what you're asking?" said The Countess.

Mr. March gave her a sideways smile, like a leer.

"Of course I did," said The Countess, exhaling smoke.

"Stay true to form, my dear," said Mr. March in a mocking tone. He didn't lose his temper. "Once an adulteress, always an adulteress."

"We're not married anymore, James," the countess said, defensively.

"We were never technically separated, either," countered Mr. March.

"Till death do us part, remember, dear?" said The Countess.

"Nonsense, death has done just the opposite. It has brought us together again," said Mr. March. "So why must you continue seeking out the company of rent boys?"

The Countess closed her eyes either in thought or in anger. When she opened them again and looked at the man across from her it was with both pain and resentment.

"I was used to being the center of attention. The disco queen," she hissed. "Now because of you, I'm trapped here. There's no passion, no blood. I can't live the life of a shut-in. I'm not you, James," she said.

"Now, now, let's not say things we'll regret," Mr. March said, threateningly.

"My goddamn head is in a glass case behind your armoire!" The Countess screamed, throwing down her cigarette. "If you want me to play your wife for all eternity, you better figure out a way to keep me entertained." She stood up and began to exit the room. All Mr. March could do was watch her go.

"I think you'll find it much more difficult controlling me than the other spirits around here," she said, grabbing a fur wrap off of a coat rack near the front door. "And bring back that frumpy maid, for fuck's sake." She ran her gloved hand along the frame of a mirror near the door. "Your cleaning skills are almost as bad as your cooking."

And with that, she left, leaving Mr. March to ponder.

Good thing she hadn't seen the body of his latest victim, rotting away in the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

Down at the Blue Parrot Lounge on the second floor, Liz, wearing a striking black, silk poncho embroidered with pearls and translucent blue beads poured an old fashioned for Mr. March's ex-maid, Miss Evers.

"Honey, your doing it again," Liz said, pointing up and down at the redhead as she slid her over her drink.

Miss Evers looked down at herself and quickly became flustered at the white apron that covered her plain black dress.

"Good heavens, how does that keep getting there?" she said, and quickly tore the garment off of herself and threw it away. She grabbed the drink in front of her and quickly downed it.

"I'd tell ya to slow down, but it looks like you know what you're doing there, sweetie," Liz said, looking almost like she was in admiration of the domestic's skill when it came to drinking.

Miss Evers shyly wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

"After losing my boy I developed quite a fondness for the sauce." she admitted.

Liz leaned over the bar and pat her on the arm.

"Now, after being dismissed by Mr. March, I'm afraid I've fallen a bit off the wagon. Working for him gave me purpose. Now what am I to do with myself?" Miss Evers said, almost crying.

She looked pleadingly at the bartender.

Liz put her head in her hand and her elbow on the bar while she thought for a moment.

"Macramé?" she suggested, flatly.

Miss Evers scoffed.

"You'll think of something," Liz said as she turned and began wiping down the counter near the sink. "Besides, I've seen you in the halls at 3am, vacuuming the carpets. You still have that. Someone's got to keep this place clean and god knows it isn't me."

"How embarrassing," Miss Evers said, sounding scandalized. "I vowed never again to clean around here, but sometimes... every now and then..."

"Oh, you twenties people, always standing on ceremony," said Liz. She walked back over to Miss Evers and looked her in the face. "Why don't you just swallow your pride and tell him you want to be the maid again? From what The Countess tells me he's not doing so great without you, either, ya know."

"R-r-really?" asked Miss Evers, her lip almost quivering.

"Said he can't dust for shit, and keeps dropping food on the floor," Liz said in a husky whisper.

"Oh my! Not on my carpet!" shouted Miss Evers.

Liz gave a small laugh.

"Go to him, apologize for getting him killed, let him apologize for firing you. Work. It. Out," said Liz. "Like me and Tristan did."

Miss Evers thought about it for a minute, but ultimately shook her head.

"No. No, if he wants me he can damn well come and beg my forgiveness and if I'm in a good mood, I may... grant him that and come back."

Liz shook her head in exasperation, but then just shrugged.

"Do what ya want," she said, "It's your eternity."

Miss Evers swallowed hard and then pushed herself away from the bar and stood up off her stool. She was once again wearing her apron.

"All I know is that in the end, we are what we are," said Liz, regarding her.

Below them, at the reception desk, Iris sorted mail into guest's cubbies. Across the way, on a lobby couch, Sally lay on her back with her phone above her, updating her Instagram with pictures of the hotel's carpet with filters on them.

Suddenly, Will Drake came out of the office behind the counter and approached Iris.

"What is this... $20,000 for a bunch of toilets? Are you people insane?" he asked, looking into an open file folder he was holding.

"We were and still are trying to impress," said Iris, annoyed. "We want people to actually stay here."

Will made a whistling noise to indicate 'good luck with that' and began to walk away. Iris hoped down off the step stool she stood on and went after him.

"What are you checking the books for anyway? As I've explained to you many times, the Hotel Cortez belongs to me and Liz now."

"And as I explained to you after I decided I was alive again, I've never legally given possession of it to you, so things like this," he said, waving a folder in front of her face, "Are still my business."

Iris made to say something back to that, but Will went into the office and shut the door right as the front desk phone began to ring, so Iris decided to answer it and deal with Mr. Drake later.

On the other end of the line was someone she rarely heard from, but when they did call, they had her full attention.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," was all she could say before the person hung up.

After she hung up she looked sweaty and flustered. She didn't even notice movie star Ramona Royale walk through the front doors of the hotel and right in her direction.

"Iris!" Ramona shouted, getting the old woman's attention.

Iris jerked and turned to face her.

"You feelin' okay, darlin' you don't look so hot." Ramona said, as sympathetically as she could.

"To be perfectly honest," said Iris, "No, I'm not. Lately, the blood I've been getting hasn't been making me feel... full. I also feel like I'm aging. Don't I look older now than I did when I was turned?"

Ramona came behind the counter to give Iris a hug.

"Awww, now, girl, you just feeling sorry for yourself," she said. "Why you still working at this shit-hole hotel when you could be living it up on Bourbon street in New Orleans?"

"I own this shit-hole hotel, remember?" said Iris.

"No you don't!" shouted Will Drake from inside the office.

"What you need is a break and to come have dinner with a friend," said Ramona, releasing Iris.

"I don't know," Iris said. "I've got a party to plan now."

"Go put on your nicest sweater set, you and I is going to the Whiskey A Go Go," Ramona insisted.

"Oh, go the hell out with her," said Sally, appearing next to them before Isis could object again. She was still playing on her phone, but said, "I'll watch the desk while you're out and me and Liz can plan this party."

It was true that ever since Sally found social media and became less of a bitch, she would occasionally help out by working the desk and doing other tasks reserved for employees.

"Okay, what the heck," said Iris.

"Wooo, child, we gonna have a funky time tonight," said Ramona, excitedly.

"No one says 'funky' anymore," said Sally.

"Well who gives a shit, this girl do," said Ramona, giving Iris a high five.

Sally rolled her eyes as Iris and Ramon walked past her.

"We're gonna be funky," Iris said to her, firmly.


End file.
